


the one where they’re fucked up

by kcannibalp (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cutting, Disordered Eating, Eating Disorders, M/M, Self Harm, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Will add more tags as I progress, body image issues, kind of??, pesterlogs, recovery but only a little, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24594403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/kcannibalp
Summary: no plot just sollux cuts himself and eridan starves himself and im funnelling my issues into the mouthes of fictional aliens
Relationships: Eridan Ampora/Sollux Captor, Sollux Captor/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. obsess over yourself so much you forgot about the others

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fuck, it’s really been a whole sweep?

The glint of light that reflects off of the blade reminds you of stars, and how they appear to stay in the sky millions, billions of years after they die. Even if you do stop cutting yourself, you’ve got a few scars too bright to disappear after the habit dies.

You snicker a little and think how good of a metaphor that is. 

Not to mention that the most probable outcome of you quitting cutting yourself is probably you having commit suicide, but if that were a space metaphor too, that’s like if the galaxy the stars were in got swallowed up. You don’t know, you’re not a fucking astrologer. 

You’re also not a big metaphor guy. Which is why you should stop daydreaming like an under-schoolfed wriggler and and get back to the task at hand. 

Task at thigh. 

You were supposed to be cutting yourself, not thinking about doing it like some fake-depressed 5 sweep old on the monitored tags of troll tumblr. 

Wow what the fuck are you even _thinking_ right now. This is what happens when you let yourself get too comfy. You get stupid. Better shave down those healthy, growing branches before you can be considered ‘recovering.’

Speaking of cutting yourself, you refocus your eyes on your thighs. Still nothing deeper than purrbeast scratches. 

Fear isn’t what’s stopping you, Probably. You _want_ to cut deep, you just.. _won’t_. 

Looking down past your lightly scarred thighs, your grey couch is stained with old specks and smears of grub-shit brown; that’s what you get for not laying down towels. 

You’re kind of upset, actually, at how little stains there are. You weren’t afraid of cutting deep enough that your pissblood leaked out for hours, but you couldn’t get yourself to do it. 

Assuming it’s some subconscious bullshit about how ‘the think-pan won’t willingly injure the body,’ you’re desperate enough to start guzzling mind honey and sopor smoothies just to get maniacal enough to do some real damage.

“Come on. Jutht fucking thcoop.”

You held your hand poised over your thigh. The sharp tip of the box-cutter replacement blade aimed to strike. You were internally shaking as you trolled the fuck up and scooped your hand downwards, and you already knew the sting of pain was barely more than a ‘slip of the knife while making lunch.’

“For fuckth thake!”

2 seconds- nothing, then the slit of yellow filled in, and a bead of blood that resembled the centrepiece of daisies swelled. 

Actually, nah, a cut so shit doesn’t deserve a description like that. 

It was a glorified paper-cut at best and a bruise at fucking worst. 

You threw the little blade down onto the floor in a huff, before wriggle-jumping to get your pants back up. Burning pain stung into your thighs as you yanked your sweatpants over the amass of slits. 

The insides of these particular pants were a completely different colour to the outsides, which you found nothing short of fucking hilarious. 

Your evening plans were ruined now. You’d planned on cutting deep, looking fresh as fuck, ablution-trapping off the blood, patching up, feeling fresh as fuck, and sleeping for another 3 solid days. 

You guess you could try to hibernate, but sleeping in your ‘cupe with open wounds made them heal fast with minimal scarring, and then this would just be a fucking waste. 

Nonetheless, you still checked your huskphone’s calendar to set an alarm, deciding you’d sleep on the couch. 

It’s not like you needed an alarm, but you know that you’d just keep telling yourself “it can’t have been 3 days yet” when you inevitably wake up (the joys of sleeping without sopor) and before you know it Karkat has made the journey to your Communal Hivestem because you’ve been “dead for a week.”

Wait. Fuck. Karkat. 

In blistering red on your yellow background, ‘kk2 wriiggliing day gettwogether’, on the final day of your hibernation. Fuck. You can’t do a two day hibernation (as much as you want to) that’s just a regular sleep. Fuck. FUCK. 

Your moirail was the best. You couldn’t sleep through his wriggling day, and even if you did go, you didn’t have a gift.  
You definitely couldn’t show up to his wriggling day gettogether without an epic gamer gift. 

On your last wriggling day, he sent you a line of code that he’d been working on that forced every pixel on your husktop monitor to cycle between red and blue. 

It did end up cycling through varying shades of purple — unless you looked _really_ close — and it did end up bricking your computer until you managed to antivirus yourself without having a functioning screen, but it’s the thought that counts. 

And you had jack shit. 

Wait...

You pulled out of Trollian and clicked into your blocklist, scrolling a decent few seconds before begrudgingly unblocking and selecting on the stupid violet loot-hoarder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you’re in a low place, you can always always come vent to me at @kcannibalp on Instagram. seriously, I’m not joking. its fucking shitty having to read fics about your problems instead of venting YOUR problems to someone. im not much but im here for you guys, and if you don’t have insta, you can totally let loose in the comments. I love you bros, clean your cuts with warm water and go drink some juice.


	2. how many hours?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 36 hours empty.

It was inevitable, really, wasn’t it?

His left hand bunched up the thick fabric of his shirt just above his lowest grubscars, his right hung sombrely behind him. 

His pants were loose on his frame but drawstringed tightly to his hips and that was the way he liked it. 

He was a violetblood, meant to be lithe and sharp; to cut through harsh waves and brush off underwater currents like seaweed.

He inhaled shallow and exhaled deep, straightening up. 

He was destined to be royalty. Unnerving. Intimidating, in the way eels can dart around smoothly and snap their teeth into you. 

He was currently on 36 hours — and counting — having gone without snapping his teeth into jack shit, and he was fucking loving it. 

“One hun- one hundred and forty two pounds.”

He barely registered his stammering as he arched his back, watching the reflection distort. 

It was inevitable that somebody who was generally hated by everyone and destined to be agile would develop an eating disorder. 

It was inevitable that this would happen to him, but he would never admit it. 

He turned the other direction and his secondary gills flared on his waist. Turning again, and his fins flicked, disrupting his hair. 

He didn’t have an eating disorder because he didn’t play wriggly with his tonsils, he’d never purged. He also hadn’t binged, since he got serious about whatever this was.

The first time he’d binged, he didn’t throw it all back up into the trap. He let himself gain all those candy-calories, and that was the last time he’d binged.

He went up 2 pounds in 4 days. He then spent 43 hours empty, eating a sandwich, and going another 21, before he settled into liking that empty feeling.

This empty feeling.

“One hundred and forty two pounds.” 

Most of his weight went to his height, they would say. 5’10 and wide-shouldered; but he knew that was a joke. 

His thighs padded his seating and his stomach softened on top of them, like a water balloon on the ground. 

Eridan could understand a slight bump of flesh, maybe even a little give under his poking, but this shit?

Ragging his shirt off loosely and throwing it away onto his bed, Eridan took both hands and cupped his bulging stomach. 

It was enough that he could pinch it like a crab and wiggle it.

“A hundred ‘nd forty two.”

He sighed, but didn’t let himself slump. If he slumped he’d look fatter, so he kept his back straight and turned away from the mirror shard.

Eridan would never willingly admit that he had an eating disorder, those were the things you needed a diagnosis for. 

Disordered eating was a bullshit term, you said that when people did things different to you. 

Some people just don’t get hungry, or can power through their hunger until they just coast over the emptiness feeling. 

Plucking it eagerly from his desk, Eridan took a deep mouthful from his mug and savoured the warmth in his palms. He held it in the back of his throat before letting just because he was cold and it was hot.

Oh yeah, shit, his shirt. That was probably why he was cold.

Tugging his shirt on without bending down so much that he had to feel his stomach’s weight squished between his body was an effort. He cringed and groaned softly, readily taking the distraction that was Trollian making a notification sound from his noticeable fat.

  
* _ **twinArmageddons unblocked caligulasAquarium**_ *  
* _ **twinArmageddons started trolling caligulasAquarium**_ *

**TA** : yo

**TA** : ed 

**TA** : where u @

**CA** : sollux

**TA** : ampora

**CA** : sollux

**TA** : look ii dont have tiime two entertaiin your unpupated wriiggler braiin 

**TA** : whiich iim 2ure thii2 actiiviity mu2t do wonder2 for

**TA** : ii actually need two 2peak wiith you

**CA** : you do?

**TA** : ii know, iit2 fuckiing biizarre ii2nt iit

**TA** : NEway2 

**TA** : diidnt you get a cool 2iickle when you diid your nerd thiing wiith vrii2ka

**CA** : yeah, sickle of beforus or something

**TA** : ii need iit

**CA** : wwhy

**TA** : ii want iit

**CA** : hmm

Eridan watched Sollux’s ‘ _typing..._ ’ bubble appear, disappear and reappear on loop for a while, before he finally decided on something. 

**TA** : ii wanna giive 2omethiing cool two kk and iim 2ure youre not u2iing iit 

**TA** : ju2t 2ay no iif you liike iit two much two part wiith

**CA** : wwhat do i get outta this?

**TA** : you get two come two my hiive2tem and ii wont iimmediiately challenge you

**CA** : shore, ill be ovver soon

* ** _caligulasAquarium ceased trolling twinArmageddons_** *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at the time of writing this, i was at 36 hours empty. please, if you’ve broken 24 hours, go get something small and healthy, a piece of fruit or even a slice of bread. 24 is a long time, and you should be okay with something small.


	3. boner killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nothing screams “i don’t actually want to fuck you” like getting more interested in their self harm

“Wow.”

“I know right. Mutant freak. Two bulgeth, you mutht be jealouth.”

“No, these.”

Eridans smoothly painted fingernail scraped over the scabbing cuts. 

They were criss-crosses across Sollux’s thighs, thickest and darkest in the middle and light yellow scrapes the further out he went. 

They looked brutally self-inflicted. Lengthy, crusty barcodes that — if scanned — wouldn’t register. 

They looked uglier under Eridan’s pale finger, and royal purple nail. Like if a sleek Cadillac had a big nasty key scratch right up the side. 

Or, a hundred little key scratches. 

Among the light-grey, the pale yellow and the deeper yellow-oranges, regular mustardblood cuts framed his legs. Fresher, recent. 

Tiny flecks of healed skin flaked off under his nail, and crispy brown dried blood picked off.

“Ow, fuck! Be careful or you’ll reopen them, dickhead.”

“Sol, I _literally_ just bit an arch into your shoulder, I’m sure a little scratch like this can’t be that bad,”

He began picking again. 

Sollux huffed and leaned back, staring at the texture of the ceiling; he felt the burning in his sheath slowly subside with each painful prick of Eridan’s finger nail. 

Sollux wouldn’t let it show, but the fact that Eridan thought his cuts were ‘little scratches’ made him shrivel up and die inside. 

It wasn’t easy to cut deep, not without buying new blades every time you dull them down with your stupid fucking scar-skinned legs. 

But.. Eridan wouldn’t _know_ that. He didn’t cut himself like you. How, sure, the pain wasn’t even unmanageable, but you still _couldn’t_ cut deeper. 

Probably because you were a shitty little wriggler, too afraid of pain to cut and too afraid of being ‘okay’ to stop trying. 

Actually, his words probably stung more than the cuts he was scraping open. 

Lounging underneath a fully clothed Eridan in only his shirt, Sollux felt pretty stupid. 

“‘Kay, tho you’ve had your fill of theckthy Captor thelf-harm porn,” he tugged lazily at Eridans shirt-hem, “when do I get to bring up the fact you weigh thickthty poundth on a good day?”

Eridan’s eyes met Sollux’s and he flushed, smoothing the palm of his hand over his yellow thigh; and cringed when the blood made him sticky. 

Alternatively to Sollux, Eridan struggled to hide that he fucking beamed when Sollux lisped miserably through ‘60lbs.’ Sixty? He looked like sixty on a _good_ day?

He also barely pulled the wool over the fact he physically cringed away from Sollux when his shirt was tugged. 

“I can still make you whi, wh- whine like a bitch w-without taking my clothes off.”

Sollux sneered and pushed up, digging his bare knee into Eridans abnormally flat stomach. 

“I know you can, I just wanna thee how fucked up you are in perthon.”

Psionics spat at Eridan’s body like hot oil before he could realise, and his muscles locked painfully in Sollux’s will. 

He groaned like a wild animal and kicked out of the sparks briefly.

“Sol, Sollux no wait-“

A nubby-nailed finger came to his lips. 

Sollux shooshed him gently, and for a kismesissitude like theirs it was insulting and venomous. 

The psiioniic pushed him into the air like gravity was an optional feature, hands on the spikes of his hips; the hem of his shirt.

Eridan groaned low in his throat as Sollux tore through his shirt. 

“Could’a taken it off.”

“Could’a left my legth alone.”

“Leg _thh_ ”

Sollux snapped a hand to Eridan’s jaw and pulled his torso forward. 

“You better act nithely, otherwithe I’ll fill that tummy for you and laugh ath you heave over my ablution trap.”

The blood sank from his face without Eridan’s consent. 

Sollux would do that to him?

The psiioniics hands were smoothing over his chest; fingers dragging over the ridges of his ribs like a cattle-grid. 

It was a concave, his stomach had fallen in on itself and his skin was propped up by his hipbones. 

Sollux exhaled deeply, “fuck.”

“W-what?” He dragged.

“Your’th ith tho much prettier than mine..”

The seadweller noticed himself slowly being lowered back into the platform.

“What?”

His agape mouth closed and he rubbed his palms over his thighs. 

“You got thkinny,” he gestured to his lower body, “I got mutilated.”

Eridan struggled to fathom his words.

“You’re tho much prettier.”

On the one hand, Sollux was calling him pretty. On the other..

Eridan slapped Sollux right across the face.

His head jerked and his chapped lip tore open, red raw from where the skin had snagged on one of Eridan’s rings. 

He silently locked eyes with Eridan, an undecided mix of kismessitude’s rivalry and misunderstanding flashing under every spark of electricity. 

“Pretty? Pretty?!”

Eridan’s hands cupped Sollux’s jawline, and the other troll clamped his claws right the way around Eridan’s wrists in panic. 

“Sol, I hawen’t eaten in days, I’m goin’ to fuckin’ die!”

Sollux’s eyes settled flickering into a desperate melancholy; yellow tinged tears glossed over them. 

“You haven’t?”

“No, I’m-“ he laughed and nervously flicked his thumb on Sollux’s ear, “this is goin’ to kill me; I’m not pretty.”

They sat in silence for a beat before Eridan sat back, hands in his lap. 

The hive was uncomfortably quiet now, which was unusual; without the droning music of a paused videogame, the inane bickering from the spades pair, or the gog-awful platform-squeaking neighbours, the hive felt dead. 

“Do you-“ Sollux paused. 

The lights were dimmed and his glasses were off and even without irises Eridan knew he was looking anywhere but forward. 

“Do you wanna go order takeout.”

No he didn’t, no no he’d been empty for over 70 hours he wasn’t about to gain 3lbs because he was offered one time. 

“Yeah.”

He was a sucker for emotional theatrics and was goin’ to fuckin’ die. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shrug


	4. Everyone gets a little Starving Themselves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in this one SOLLUX starved himself and Eridan is like “yo wtf”. It’s the switcharoo episode. 
> 
> I didn’t spellcheck this or nothing because i feel like shit and just wanted to vent so

_ TA: iim ju2t bored mo2t of the tiime. ii thought iit would be cool or 2omethiing _

_ CA: cool? _

_ TA: you know what ii mean, ii wanted two make progre22 wiithout puttiing iin the work _

_ CA: a fuckin course you did _

_ TA: dont fuckiing patronii2e me ampora _

_ TA: iim 2iick _

_ TA: ii know that much _

_ CA: and youre not gonna try and get better? _

_ TA: why would ii, ii liike thii2 _

Eridan shuddered in his seat.

_ CA: wwhy wwould you like that? _

_ TA: iit2 2ome 2ick and twii2ted way of _

_ TA: iidk _

_ TA: takiing control of my2elf _

_ CA: youre killin yourself _

_ TA: ii know, and ii dont even have two tiie a rope _

He brought a fist up to his mouth, unable to close his agape jaw without manual help.

_ CA: wwhy are you doin this to yourself _

_ CA: you havve so many friends _

_ CA: people wwho like you for you _

_ CA: not because youre skinny _

_ TA: because iit2 ea2y two do _

_ TA: and because ii want two do iit _

_ CA: ... _

_ TA: are you done now? _

_ TA: iit2 early a2 fuck and iive an2wered all your que2tiion2 _

Eridan typed quickly, afraid of leaving Sollux alone to his hive. 

_ CA: can I come ovver  _

_ TA: 2orry, ii charge 200 boondollar2 for a day-2tay _

_ CA: fuck off _

_ CA: I’m just bored _

_ CA: you’vve entertained me this long wwhy not seal the deal _

_ TA: what, 2o you can check out how my riib2 make my grub2car2 2tretch over them? _

_ CA: that’s fuckin disgusting _

_ CA: i can bring over some vvideogames _

_ TA: hm _

_ TA: cod of war or iim lettiing the 2un fry you iinto cooked 2almon  _

Exhaling shallowly as the ‘twinArmageddons has ceased pestering caligulasAquarium’ notification dinged on his husktop screen, Eridan pushed away from his desk. 

He didn’t own a wheeled-sitting device however, so he only pushed the desk back, but the sentiment was there. 

Stop rambling. Concentrate. 

“Okay. W-What the fuck. What- what the fuck.”

He stammered emptily as he got up, walking to his accessorising hub. He snatched a backpack, repeating his mantra, and left his respiteblock. 

“What the fuck. What am I doing,” he pounded down the ships stairwell, before stopping abruptly, “Is this a date?”

He pondered for a split second, eyes looking far past the water damaged walls, before scowling at himself in disgust. Guilt washed over him in a huge wave, drowning him.

“No. I’m going over to make shore he hasn’t malnourished himself to the point of scurvy.”

He ran down the last steps and dashed to his hungerblock, cape enunciating the urgency with a wide swoop. 

His eyes burned sharply as he went, he’d been talking to Sol for hours. It was a lazy day for the both of them, and they hadn’t breached the topic of Captor’s disordered eating until the fourth hour at the very least. 

He’d mentioned offhandedly that he was almost at 48 hours since his last break, and Eridan asked what he’d meant. ‘I ate like, a thouthand calorieth of junk food 44 hourth ago,’ the mustardblood hadn’t even realised what he said was really fucked up.

Like, _really_ fucked up. 

Did he not realise that.. normal trolls don’t count their calories? They don’t track how long it’s been since they last ate? 

Apparently not, because he’d told Eridan to ‘get over hiim2elf’ before he’d apologised. 

Eridan cringed at the reminiscence as he darted into the hungerblock. Even if he did want the death of all land-dwellers for being disgusting and awful and dry, this was different. 

He slapped the backpack on an empty barrel wrenched it open, throwing everything immediately edible into it. Chips, dried grubs legs, candy packets, pickled mussels, literally everything you could crack the seal and stuff your foodchute with. 

He didn’t expect Sollux to want to eat this food. He probably wouldn’t admit that this was mostly for himself, because he’d feel bad if he showed up to his hive like “yes Sol keep it up maybe you’ll breach 72 hours!”

He was a douchebag but he wasn’t fucking bloodpusherless. 

Zipping the bag closed, Eridan didn’t hesitate before swinging his scarf over his shoulder, slipping the Cod Of War case into the front pocket, and fucking off on his lusus’ back to the lowerblood hivestems. 

“Wow. You actually came.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I told you I would- I would, would-“ Sollux clamped a hand on the stammering Eridan’s shoulder and tugged him inside, shutting the door in haste. 

“Yeah, but thaying you’re coming and actually coming ith two different thingth.”

He scoffed at Sollux.

“Yes, the one leads to the other, you smooth-brained fuck.”

Sollux turned to Eridan after locking his hive entrance; it was too early for anybody to spend more than five minutes out there, let alone a sea-dweller. Fucker must’ve planned this, now he had to spend the day with Sollux.

“Whatever. What did you bring?”

Eridan dropped himself onto the 2-seater and unzipped his backpack into his lap, peeling back the flap to show Sollux the contents. 

“Y’know. Food and the ilk, also Cod Of War.”

Sollux stifled his bristle at that and pulled a face, just a flicker of psionic energy spitting from his eyes. 

“Why?”

“You asked me to bring it, or you’d fry me.”

“No-“

He stepped forward and plucked the game case out of Eridan’s bag, holding it close.

“Why did you bring food.”

“Because you’ve not been eating?”

He phrased it like it was the most obvious thing in the world and Sollux didn’t hold back on flaring his light show. 

“I don’t want to eat. You can’t make me by bringing your filthy thea-thide delight’th.”

“I don’t care?”

“What’th that thuppothed to mean?”

Eridan’s face flushed and anger darkened his expression, ever so lightly. He looked exactly the same when he realised he was fighting on the losing side. 

Then, Eridan stood up; even with the couple feet between them, his few inches on Sollux did make the mustardblood feel smaller, weaker.

Eridan sucked in a breath and his lips parted, but Sollux gave before he could start his nautical shit-fit

“You know what? Thith wath a mithtake, you shouldn’t have come. I’m going to ‘cupe, take the two-theater.”

“Wait,” Eridan’s ringed fingers clamped on Sollux’s arm like a snap-band; in which they went right the way around. 

He gawked like a featherbeast and squeezed, shocked at the twiggy limb. 

“What?”

“Please eat.”

“No?”

“Why?”

“I’ve told you why,” Sollux tried to shrug Eridan’s arm off of him but he wouldn’t budge. 

He looked desperate, more so than usual. 

“For me?”

Sollux scoffed and looked at him, something mean twisting in his eyes. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are? No, I don’t care what you think about me.”

The seadweller bit metaphorical tongue and blurred something out.

“I think you’re too skinny.”

It must’ve worked, because Sollux swayed softly as he blinked. 

Eridan continued, “and I think you.. you need to eat, because a thousand calories every two days isn’t enough to stay healthy, an-“

“I usually go three or four.”

Eridan bit real tongue now, shutting himself up swiftly. 

The psiioniic’s eyes were on the floor, his shoulders were up and he looked..

He looked afraid. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Thometimes, I’ll get angry and eat all the junk food I have.”

Eridan loosened his grip.

“You do?”

He nodded, “and then I’ll throw it all back up into the trap under the cold water.”

Eridan rubbed Sollux’s arm reassuringly, it seemed to be comforting, because the goldblood leaned closer, the bifurcated colours of his eyes taking on a glassy yellow sheen. 

“Do you want to be like this?”

It was silent for a long moment.

“Yes, it maketh me feel better.. but,” he sniffed deeply, “I know it’s bad and there’th a little part of me that want’th to thtop.”

Eridan nodded again; he grabbed the hem of his cape in both hands and wrapped his arms around sollux, encasing both of them in the warm fabric. 

It was heavy, and soothing and he felt like Sollux would collapse if he wasn’t wrapping his arms around him and hissing muffled cries into his scarf. 

“It’s okay, cry it out.”

And he did. 

They were sat on the lounging platform, sharing a family pack bag of Doritos. 

“I don’t want to be like thith ED.”

“Don’t worry,” he pulled Sollux’s head down onto his shoulder and was grounded by the soft grinding of him chewing, “I’m here now. I’ll help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really do be like: *makes vent fics of characters in my positions* *gives character a happy end* *cries*

**Author's Note:**

> if you’re in a low place, you can always always come vent to me at @kcannibalp on Instagram. seriously, I’m not joking. its fucking shitty having to read fics about your problems instead of venting YOUR problems to someone. im not much but im here for you guys, and if you don’t have insta, you can totally let loose in the comments. I love you bros, clean your cuts with warm water and go drink some juice.


End file.
